Ride
by smalld1171
Summary: Set in 9x02. Abbadon follows through on her threat.
1. Chapter 1

**Ride**

**A/N: Hi. Just a short one-shot set in 9x02. Abaddon follows through on her threat. Thanks to anyone who gives this a look, I appreciate it.**

**Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!**

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"Well, no time like the present, right?"

Heat, sudden and quickly becoming unbearable singes his chest as scarlet tipped fingers circle the engraving etched into his skin. Fighting to maintain control of his increasingly rapid breaths, he latches an unwavering gaze onto her pale, ruby lipped face, even as a film of moisture percolates beneath his flesh to ooze out through his pores.

"Ah, what's the matter, am I too _hot_ for you, Dean?"

He smirks despite the pain, not willing to give her the satisfaction.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart, you... you ain't all that."

A cascade of hell fire red descends across his face and her features become obscured as she leans over, her long locks softly resting against him and her lips nestled snugly against his neck. The irony of it; that the pretense of an ultra hot chick is teeming with evil serves to piss him off more, even while he fights against the agony that permeates every fibre of his body.

His skin tingles at the vibration of her voice against his throat.

"No Dean, I'm _so _much more."

He opens his mouth, ready to spew one last retort, dripping with sarcasm and contempt into her smug face, but by the time the noise meanders it's way up his throat it has been transformed; distorted and morphed, and is unleashed upon the outside world as a blood curdling scream; his.

She cups his face, her mouth contorting into a wicked smile as his vision starts to blur and darkness closes in.

"I always love to hear them scream. And taking _you_ along for the ride? One word, lover. _Awesome_."

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**Thanks for stopping by :) I had more written but thought this was a good place to end. However, if the feeling strikes I may add another chapter if I have a chance. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to a stressful morning and a few folks asking for more, I present another short chapter, with the possibility of more to come. Thanks for the reviews thus far, I hope any who read will enjoy.**

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The taste is vile, as if death itself has been packaged in gauze and shoved into his mouth. It seeps and sears it's taint along his veins like acid; like the path marked on a map it lays claim, decisively extinguishing his control piece by piece; every fibre, muscle and tissue held within shorting out until he feels nothing at all.

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Instantaneous panic, it consumes and overwhelms him when the first sensation upon his sudden thrust back to consciousness is the inability to do that most basic of functions; to breathe.

Mouth gaped open he tries to cough and when that doesn't amount to anything tries to inhale precious oxygen through his mouth and then his nose. It's of no use, to no avail; his airway is clogged so completely that he can't even swallow in an attempt to dislodge whatever the hell he is choking on.

He's suffocating, the feel of it emanating from the centre of his body until it seems to twist and churn outward from his gut, to his extremities, and finally, blessedly, to his lips.

The foreign matter's expulsion from the confines of his frame garners the rapid intake of a deep breath, freeing him from the blackness and giving way to the feeling of having just breached the surface after being under water too long. Unsteady legs wobble on their own accord and he's powerless to stop the inevitable, instead instinctively jutting his arms out to lessen the impact as he descends to the ground.

He gasps in shock and surprise as he collapses on all fours, rewarded for that move by an agonizing trail of fire that burns and crawls relentlessly along his entire left side. The reaction is instant; he coughs and gags, a mess a bile and crimson fluid escaping from the depths within to sputter onto the same dirt he currently kneels on. He's hot, weak and confused as he stays, head hung low, just inches from the ground. Letting out a low groan he tries to catalogue each part of his body, the distinct flavor of a hunt gone wrong still coating the lining of his mouth.

"Shhh, just relax, Dean."

Hazy and unsettled, the sound of a woman's voice uttering his name, while hovering just above him as he recovers from puking his guts out, puts him on edge and raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Unsure of where he is or what happened, the only voice he expected, _needed_ to hear at this moment was Sam's.

Even through the cloud of confusion he knows well enough that not having his brother beside him in this kind of situation is never a good thing.

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**Thanks for stopping by :)**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Welcome back...Thank you to all who have reviewed and/or added this little story to their alert or favorites list. Sorry my responses to reviews have been lacking, I hope to remedy that this time around. I hope you will enjoy another short chapter of Dean torment ;)**_

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_Even through the cloud of confusion he knows well enough that not having his brother beside him in this kind of situation is never a good thing._

Taking a shallow breath he calls out into the stillness of the night with a cracked, raspy voice.

"S...Sammy...y'here?"

Silence.

Panic erupts; frightful scenarios ricochet around his head as to why his plea goes unanswered. He clears his throat, intent on bellowing out his brother's name until he gets some sort of damn confirmation that Sam's okay.

But, as soon as he takes that breath in, every disjointed thought is consumed and forgotten; reason, logic and even Sam take a back seat to the surge of debilitating pain.

Every intake of air that expands his lungs increases the throb in his body and the incessant drumming that has taken root in his head. Instinct filters through; he timidly rises to his knees and inches his fingertips towards the blossoming agony spreading its fiery tendrils across his chest; desperation for some kind of relief drowning out his inner voice, the one screaming out to him that he's in serious trouble. When tentative fingers lightly probe the area that seems to be the epicenter of his agony, his vision blurs and he moans deeply at his own furtive touch.

His hand slips away and he teeters where he kneels, anchoring his body by using his right arm to grip his left, searching for some kind of balance while he lists along a rolling, dizzying sea.

Through the white noise in his head; the crescendo of an unwanted symphony's percussion section picking up the tempo, he somehow picks up the distinct sound of footsteps; the crunch of the earth making him twitch as the steps slowly, lazily circle the perimeter around him.

It's not until Stilletto heels, their crimson hue catching a stray beam of moonlight just right appear in his field of vision that an added sensation grows in his already twisting and churning stomach. A chill he isn't sure is due entirely to the night air or the shock his body is no doubt undergoing makes him shiver and causes the owner of those ruby shoes to let out a seemingly out of place, ominous squeal of delight.

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_**TBC...thanks for stopping by.**_


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